


After the Funeral

by Redrikki



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: Han offers Luke some unexpected support after the funeral of the guy who tortured him.





	After the Funeral

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



> Written to fill Sholio's prompt in the [Friends will be friends ficathon](https://ruuger.dreamwidth.org/1054506.html). Also fills my bingo square for "it's your funeral."

Luke returned to his father’s funeral pyre the morning, well, mid-afternoon, after the victory celebration. Smoke drifted lazily up from a few stubborn embers. Heart pounding, he hastily scooped up handfuls to dirt to smother them for good. He could have set the forest on fire! While Emperor Palpatine would probably cackled himself to a second death at the idea, Luke liked to think that Anakin Skywalker would have been at least a little upset by it.

Dusting off his hands, Luke found a stick to rake through the debris for more hot spots. He prodded a puddle of congealed plasteel and sifted through piles of fried electronics. He found it under a half-charred log. His father’s helmet, warped and twisted. He fished it out to find it was still warm from the fire. He should bury it, if only to keep someone from taking it as a sick sort of souvenir. He should burn it until there was nothing left. 

A branch snapped and he turned to find Han coming up behind him.

“Hey, kid,” he said awkwardly, his hands jammed in his pockets. “Sorry about—” he jerked his chin at the helmet still in Luke’s hands.

Luke shook his head. “Han, he tortured you.” He set the helmet down and rose to his feet. His friend didn’t need to pretend to be sad about Vader. Certainly no one else was. 

“Yeah, I noticed,” Han said dryly as he ambled over. He glared at the helmet like he was seriously considering kicking it across the clearing. “I ain’t sorry he’s dead.” He met Luke’s eyes. “I’m sorry you lost your father.”

Luke’s mouth went dry. “Han, I—” He’d meant to tell him, he really had. It was just a little hard to find the words. 

“Leia told me. That and apparently you’re twins now? We, ah—” he rubbed the back of his neck. “We kissed.”

They’d kissed before, but clearly something had changed. Something big. Luke smiled. They were good for each other, even when they were driving each other crazy. Maybe especially then. “Congratulations.” 

The sounds of the forest grew louder as they lapsed into companionable silence. Birds chirped. Trees groaned as they swayed in the winds. Somewhere in the distance, a horn sounded, no doubt rousing a village full of hungover rebels. Strange how life went on, even after one life had ended.

Luke scratched absently at the juncture between his wrist and prosthetic hand. The damn thing had been on the fritz since the Emperor electrocuted him on the Death Star. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but he really did need to get it looked at. He wished it wasn’t the only thing he had to remember his father by. 

Han glanced over at him, his gaze snagging in Luke’s mechanical hand. He coughed, shuffled his feet, and cleared his throat again. 

“I, ah, loved this girl once,” he said, staring off into the middle distance. “Before I met your sister,” Han rushed to assure him. “She made some bad choices. Real bad. Got herself in over her head, but, every time I tried to offer her a way out, she just kept digging herself in deeper. She hurt me. Hurt a bunch of other people too. But I still loved her or, hell, I don’t know, the idea of her and what we could have had together.”

That was certainly interesting, but was more the sort of story to share over a beer in a cantina, not over his father’s funeral pyre. “What’s your point, Han?”

“Just that I get it. Vader was a real lousy excuse for a father and a worse human being, but you’re still allowed to mourn him and, I don’t know, who he could have been. Don’t let anyone tell you different,” he said, squeezing Luke’s shoulder. “Even Leia. Especially Leia.” He shook his head ruefully. “Your sister can hold a grudge like nobody’s business.”

Mourning who Anakin Skywalker could have been. Is that what he’d been doing? His father had turned back to the light and saved him in the end, but he could have done it sooner. They could have had a relationship, one that didn’t involve cutting each other’s hands off. 

Luke swallowed hard around the lump in his throat as his eyes began to burn. “Thanks, Han,” he rasped and finally shed the tears he hadn’t let himself cry last night.


End file.
